"Absolutely the last," admitted Selwyn.
"Talking of French," began Fortescue, "reminds me of something that happened to me at Plug Street. Hallo, what's the move now?"
Fortescue's narrative, or rather attempted narrative, of what occurred at Plug Street was somewhat remarkable. On three previous occasions Malcolm and Selwyn had heard him commencing the tale, and each time something had occurred to "switch him off."
It was no ordinary interruption on this occasion. The transport had altered helm and was turning to starboard, with her bows pointing towards the Foreland end of The Wight. Still porting helm, she swung round until she reversed her former direction, then, standing on her course, began to make for Spithead once more.
"What's up now?" was the enquiry on the lips of hundreds of men.
"One of the brass hats' has dropped his toothbrush overboard and we're going back to look for it," declared a South Australian. "Corker, my boy, you were too sharp on your bead when you chortled, 'Good-bye, Blighty!'"
Presently it transpired that the transport had received a wireless message ordering her to return to Southampton, as four German submarines had been reported lying in wait at a distance of ten Miles south of the Nab Lightship. Since the night was pitch dark, the escorting ships could not carry out their protective duties with the same degree of efficiency as usual. In the circumstances prudence directed the temporary abandonment of the cross-channel voyage.
It was one o'clock in the morning when the transport berthed in the Empress Dock. Orders were given for the troops to disembark and proceed to the large rest camp on the outskirts of Southampton. Disappointed though they were, the men maintained their cheerfulness, and before the long column was clear of the dock gates they were cheering, laughing, and shouting frantically, despite all attempts on the part of their officers to enforce silence.
Up the long High Street the khaki-clad troops marched boisterously. The inhabitants, roused from their sleep by the unusual clamour, flocked to the windows. Many a time had they seen troops fully equipped proceeding towards the docks; never since the outbreak of hostilities had they seen soldiers in heavy marching order tramping in column of fours away from the place of embarkation.
"What's up?" was the oft-repeated enquiry from the invisible heights of many a darkened window in the High Street.